


To Dream of Rain

by misato



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misato/pseuds/misato
Summary: “Let’s go home,” Thor said into his ear, and that was the only sound left in the room.





	To Dream of Rain

**Author's Note:**

> this is really short but i had feelings so here they are
> 
> endgame spoilers obviously

In the endless days that stretched on between the aftermath and the funeral, Bruce felt even more alone than he had after the first earth-shattering snap. On paper, it made sense to trade two lives for billions, but the heavy weight in his stomach and the bags under his eyes filled him with sickened disbelief.

“You’re sulking,” Thor said, stirring his iced coffee, and Bruce blinked.

He had been spacing out again, sinking into the green shell of a body and letting the Hulk step up to the plate. It had always been easy to hide when there was someone much bigger to hide behind, but Thor had effortlessly pulled him back into the room again. Stupid calming voice. Stupid gentle gaze. The sound of the bustling coffee shop flooded around him once more, and Bruce sighed.

It seemed Thor was slowly replacing hangovers with caffeine headaches. The god took a sip, and then frowned, stirring it again. The straw squeaked up and down noisily against the plastic lid, and Bruce winced. 

“With all the sea turtles back in the oceans, you should really cut down on those.”

“And now you’re changing the topic.”

Bruce sighed.

“Of  _ course  _ I’m sulking. Our friends are dead, or did you forget that two and a half lattes ago?”

“That’s not why you’re sulking,” Thor said. “I know that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror. You’re blaming yourself.”

“I could’ve fixed it,” Bruce murmured. “I could’ve changed things.”

“There was one way this could’ve ended, Bruce. One.”

“I  _ know _ ,” Bruce said through gritted teeth, looking even more green around the neck than usual. “I just wish there had been another way, another chance. Thor, they didn’t deserve to--”

“I’m sorry, Bruce.”

Thor’s voice was gravel. Deeper than galaxies, heavier than the Gauntlet around his wrist, final as the last gut-wrenching snap of Tony’s fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice softening. “Come here.”

Relief shot through Bruce’s body like a hammer flying through the battlefield in search of its mark.

A big green hipster and a disheveled god of thunder hugging tightly over a rickety coffee shop table was enough to make people glare over their crisply folded newspapers and sticker-covered laptops, but Bruce really couldn’t give a damn. Thor’s arms felt soft and warm and safe. 

“Let’s go home,” Thor said into his ear, and that was the only sound left in the room.

_Home is_ _you_ , Bruce wanted to say. _You’re my home._

Instead, he said,

“Your place or mine?”

***

The sex was different than it was five years ago. It was more careful, more tender, more human.

Bruce rather liked Thor’s new body; he revelled in the softness of his hips, wondered at the meatiness of his thighs. It was almost like they were real people now -- middle-aged men with desk jobs and soft bellies and little sense of responsibility. No magic rocks, no axes to the head, no dead friends. No trauma therapy or coping strategies, other than maybe going out for a couple beers with the guys after work at the end of a particularly long Friday. They were almost not-super. It was nice to pretend.

“You think too much,” Thor sighed into the crook of Bruce’s shoulder. “I can see it in your eyes. You were thinking about something big and angsty.”

“I wasn’t,” Bruce lied. “I was thinking about your ass.”

“Well, stop thinking and start doing. It’s more of a hands-on experience, or so I’ve heard.”

Bruce groaned and obliged him, sliding down between his legs and pushing them apart.

Thor was pliable and obedient in bed, remaining almost completely still except for the trembling of his thighs whenever Bruce brushed up against  _ that  _ spot. Thunder began to rumble outside and rain started spewing raucously against the windows. Lightning flashed, startling them both.

“Is that you?” Bruce asked, and Thor nodded breathlessly.

“Feels good,” he said, gazing down at him through lidded blond lashes, eyes like TV static. 

Bruce kept working his mouth over those soft thighs, gently pulling the flesh between his teeth, and listening to Thor’s breath hitch. 

“You were always good at that,” Thor purred, the sound of his voice rich and guttural, and lightning flashed again, bathing the room in a fleeting glow.

“Good at what?” Bruce murmured absentmindedly as he travelled north, his lips tracing madly around the base of Thor’s cock.

He was trying not to behave animalistically, but Thor made him a starving man and at this point he would stop at nothing to devour.

“Tearing me apart.”

And then it was only a matter of time. 

The sensations were lovely, the noises were divine, the orgasms were wonderful. Everything happened as expected; the familiarity was comforting in such an unfamiliar new world. Still, the thing that Bruce had truly missed the most was the aftermath of it all. The glow of sex singing on their skin, the sheen of sweat across their shoulders, the sweet cherry redness of their kiss-stung mouths.

“We both know I can’t stay,” Thor said, staring up at the ceiling.

The rain had stopped by now. Bruce looked at him.

“On Earth, I mean,” he said, to clarify.

“I know that,” Bruce said gently. “At least let me make you dinner.”

***

They sat in the quiet of Bruce’s kitchen slurping spaghetti bolognese.

“Funeral’s tomorrow,” Thor said around a generous mouthful of noodles. “And then we’re done, I suppose. No more Avenging. At least not officially.”

“Are you going to miss it?” Bruce asked.

“Some of it.” Thor said. “Not the wars. There will always be wars, regardless of whether or not we’re the ones fighting them. I won’t miss that. But I’ll miss the people.” He paused. “I’ll miss you, Banner.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Bruce said softly.

And that was that. They did the dishes together in silence. Bruce washed; Thor dried. Soon night had fallen and the last dregs of conversation had faded away.

“You can stay the night, if you like,” Bruce said, but Thor waved him off.

“You need rest,” he said. “You’ll need it, for tomorrow. Sleep well, Banner.”

And Bruce did, for the first night in five long years. He slept, and dreamt of rain.

**Author's Note:**

> i might write some more upbeat/smutty/funny/not introspective thorbruce again (more like 'god-shaped problem') if anyone's interested :-) let me know in the comments


End file.
